


Nothing to worry about

by Anderseeds



Series: Hellsing works [9]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Virginity or Celibacy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25032034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Anderseeds
Summary: Enrico had long since passed the stage of denying his attraction and denying himself his appreciation of good-looking men. He was also, thankfully, well past the stage where anyone could do anything even if they did find out about his attraction. Through the right channels, a bishop could get away with just about anything, and being the head of an organisation that specialised in being non-existent made that especially easy.Enrico wants Anderson, and Enrico has ways of getting what he wants.
Relationships: Alexander Anderson/Enrico Maxwell
Series: Hellsing works [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622206
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Nothing to worry about

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my drafts for over two months, WHOOPS. I completely forgot I'd written it for a while there.
> 
> It's my first time I've explored this pairing. It's not a ship I ever thought I'd be writing for, but there's nice art for it, and I got bitten by some ideas, and here we are. 
> 
> Make sure to read the warnings!

Anderson was a good-looking man. He was desirably tall, impressively muscular, had a gorgeous face and a strong jaw that wasn't unlike those prevalent among male models (something Enrico was intimately familiar with). Enrico had noticed Anderson's looks mid-way through puberty, and for many a year he had considered these thoughts a simple, aesthetic appreciation. How ignorant he'd been back then, how innocent. But he wasn't anymore. He hadn't been for a very long time. 

Enrico had long since passed the stage of denying his attraction to men and denying himself appreciation of good-looking ones. He was also, thankfully, well past the stage where anyone could do anything even if they _did_ find out about his sexual proclivities. Through the right channels, a bishop could get away with just about anything, and being the head of an organisation that specialised in being non-existent made that _especially_ easy.

Enrico had lost count of how many Anderson look-alikes he’d called into his room over the years. So many tall, broad-shouldered, bronze skinned men with stubble and blond hair and never quite the right eyes, but that didn’t matter, because he could get them to close them while he held them down by the throat and fucked them into the mattress. Over twenty would be his estimate. The frequency of them had increased as he’d gotten older. He’d been so tentative in the beginning, fearful of disappointing God, but that had been assuaged fast by the quality of his work in Iscariot, which he felt more than made up for his occasional indulgence.

Part of the reason he was attracted to Anderson, aside from his looks, was his steadfast devotion to God. Which was ironic, considering Enrico’s own faltering where self-control was concerned. There wasn’t a single detail of Anderson’s life that hadn’t been dictated by his faith. His work, his relationships, where he lived, where he went - all these things where decided for him, and he was content with that in a way Enrico had always struggled with, even as a boy with little independence to speak of. It was part of the reason Enrico had gone for a job of authority rather than contenting himself with a lower position. He could never forfeit control the way Anderson did.

His dedication was admirable. It was also something Enrico would have quite liked for himself. What a terrible thought, to want Anderson to serve him the way he served God, to get on his knees and kiss his feet and hands and worship Enrico. But he was - as previously mentioned - well past the stage of denying himself things he wanted, so while he knew it was a terrible thought, he was by no means guilty about it. It was a fantasy that instead elicited frustration; it was impossible to get Anderson to reciprocate his interest, you see. He was too firmly categorised as one of Anderson's children to be extended even a fraction of the deference he deserved. He couldn’t get the man to call him ‘sir’ half the time, and the few times Anderson had remembered to address Enrico with respect for his position it'd held a dismissive quality. Not a deliberate one, but one brought on by him having known Enrico as a child. Enrico insisting he was a _friend_ and _superior_ and not to be treated like the boy he’d once been hadn’t done much to foster the deference he was due.

And even if he could get Anderson to heel for him, there was no position high enough for him to get _exactly_ what he wanted out of their relationship. Anderson would never give Enrico the intimacy. His stringent moral code ensured he wouldn’t accept a proposition from someone he’d had a hand in raising. None of Enrico's usual methods of acquiring what he wanted would work on Anderson.

So he'd have to employ unusual methods instead.

* * *

“This,” said Enrico, holding up a small syringe full of white liquid. “Is what the laboratories have been working on.”

Anderson cocked his eyebrows at the syringe. “Is it another enhancement?” There was a note of excitement in his voice. He was always eager to improve his service to God. 

“No,” said Enrico. “We’ve not quite reached the stage where we can just give you an injection to achieve that, but this does concern enchantments.” He stepped out from behind his desk, rolling the syringe between his index finger and thumb. “It’s an anaesthetic that will actually work on you for a significant period. With the rapid advancement of technology, I thought it’d be prudent to have one made so you won’t be aware for future procedures.”

That wasn’t the entire truth of its creation, and the inevitability of Anderson finding out the rest of Enrico’s motivation was why he’d insisted upon an anterograde amnesia variation of anaesthetic.

“That’s a waste of their time,” said Anderson, frowning. “I can handle the procedures without it, Maxwell.”

Enrico cast him an irate look. “For once, Anderson, don’t fight me on my decisions. I consider this necessary and you will take it when it comes time for that.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Anderson frowned, shifted in his chair, and looked very much like he wanted to argue, but eventually he just leaned forward and extended a hand. Enrico hastily uncovered the needle and approached.

“You’ll need to get your clothes out of the way.”

“I’ll take it to my room at Ferdinant Lukes,” Anderson began, but Enrico interrupted him.

“No,” he said. “You’ll be injected here so I can keep an eye on you and make notes.”

Anderson thinned his lips. “I can make my own notes and send them down to the laboratory. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“’Trouble myself’ – I can tell you’re trying to squirm out of it for prides sake.” Enrico offered a small, knowing smile. “You need to be observed and interacted with to ensure its fully functional as an anaesthetic. And no, we’re not going to bother the laboratories with this task.” He already knew the anaesthetic worked, of course; it had been tested enough on other, moderately enhanced soldiers for the scientists to have concluded it would be effective on Anderson. The laboratories _did_ still want Anderson to trial it, but it wasn’t as pressing or demanding a request as Enrico was making it out to be. “I’ll be recording the next few hours, but I’ll generously omit any footage of you drooling on yourself or babbling from the final cut.”

Anderson scoffed and began to shrug off his cassock-coat. “You won’t be omitting them from your private files.”

Enrico’s smile sharpened. “I deserve a little ammunition, don’t I? Now get the rest of those clothes out of the way. Unless you’d like me to inject it somewhere other than your arm?”

“Do it in my neck.” Anderson popped the buttons on his clergy jacket and pulled free the clerical collar, unveiling the warm stretch of his throat. “Easier to reach than an arm.”

Enrico wanted badly to reach out and graze his fingers over the hollow of Anderson’s throat. It was rare that he ever got to see it. Licking his lips, he pressed his knuckles against the underside of Anderson’s jaw to guide him into tilting his head back and then carefully slid the needle into his neck. There was a reflexive twitch, followed by Anderson going slack as Enrico pressed down on the plunger. 

“There,” murmured Enrico, sliding the needle smoothly out and tossing it into his bin. “Start counting for me. People usually only get to five or so before it starts taking effect.”

Anderson, predictably, got to twenty before cognisance abandoned him.

He slumped forward in his chair, eyes drooping, head listing forward. Enrico was quick to steady him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Sit quietly a moment, Anderson. I need to set up the camera.”

It was a personal camera that he drew out of his bottom-most desk drawer. He set it on the edge of the desk, facing Anderson, and made sure he had a good, frontal view of the man before returning to where Anderson was lounging.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he stood behind Anderson, his long thin fingers rising to glide along either side of Anderson’s jaw, through his bristles. The man made an appreciative sound.

“Tired,” said Anderson, his head flopping back to give Enrico better access to his jawline.

“So it looks like,” said Enrico, chuckling. He liked Anderson like this, all warm and sleepy and pliant. He ran his fingers delicately through Anderson’s bristles, like petting a cat. And with how eagerly he was tilting into Enrico's fingers, he was starting to remind Enrico distinctly of a cat. “Do you like this? What I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” mumbled Anderson. “It’s pleasant.”

Enrico dropped his fingers lower, sliding them down either side of Anderson’s throat, a thumb slipping into the hollow of his clavicle. “How about this?” he asked, his exploratory glide transitioning into a slow kneading massage. Anderson’s skin radiated heat. Enrico, who’d always struggled to maintain a reasonable body temperature, found it delicious.

“Good,” Anderson breathed.

Enrico smiled and began to pop free the buttons on Anderson’s clergy jacket and shirt, taking his time so to keep Anderson relaxed. People under twilight amnesia still had some control over their faculties. If he went too fast, Anderson might start to resist, and he wasn’t _completely_ devoid of his strength. He didn't want to have to wrestle the broad-shouldered, six foot six man back into his seat because he'd pushed too hard.

“Anderson,” he murmured- practically moaned, because he’d pulled apart the clergy jacket and shirt to unveil a beautiful chest. He slipped a hand between the swell of those pecs and lightly thumbed a soft areola. His other hand drifted to the fine, sparse hairs on Anderson’s olive skin. “Have you ever been intimate with another person? I want to know.” He _had_ to know if he was the first. The thought of being Anderson first in some capacity was deeply, wonderfully appealing.

A strangled sound tore from Anderson’s throat. He curled his back, pressing his shoulders into the chair, the crown of his head cradled by the folds of Enrico’s vest. “What… what do you mean?” he asked.

The journey of Enrico’s hands must have been making it difficult to focus. Enrico stilled them, just for a moment.

“Have you ever kissed? Have you ever been touched?” He leaned down, lips beside Anderson’s ear, tongue flicking over the shell. “Have you _fucked_ , Father? That’s what I want to know.”

Anderson’s breath hitched. Enrico could feel the warmth gathering in his cheeks. “’Course I haven’t. We have _vows_ , Enrico.”

Enrico – my, he _was_ far gone. He rarely ever used Enrico's first name, these days. Though he had a hard time regarding Enrico as his superior, it was customary for surnames to be used by lower ranks, and he respected that well enough.

Anderson swallowed hard as Enrico’s hands resumed their journey down his body, feeling out every rise and dip of his muscular build. The muscle was firm, but not so much so that Enrico couldn’t sink his fingers in with enough effort. “Never,” Anderson continued in a distracted mumble. “I’ve never… broken my remaining vows. I didn’t break the promise of chastity I made as a boy, either. I would… I never did…” His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to the fingers splayed out on his midsection, and it seemed to finally register what was happening. “Enrico, we can’t do this.”

“Of course we can,” said Enrico, his voice gentle and coercive. “It’s alright if it’s _me_ , Father. If you give your chastity to me, it will always belong to God in some capacity.”

“To God…” Anderson blinked blearily. “I thought this was… something for the laboratories. Weren’t we doing something for the laboratories?” He frowned, clearly struggling to recall just how he’d gotten into this situation.

“I can multitask. And besides, they’ve taken semen samples before, haven’t they? I mean, they’d have to have, to know you’re sterile.”

“Yes,” said Anderson, his brow pinched in concentration. Following the conversation was clearly proving difficult.

“Then this should be nothing new to you,” murmured Enrico. “And doesn’t it feel nice? Nothing worth complaining about.”

“Mhm,” came Anderson non-committal response, his attention finally drawn away from the journey of Enrico’s hands. His gaze drifted to Enrico’s face.

“Right,” said Enrico, his voice soft and persuasive. He eased his touches until the tense line of Anderson’s shoulders turned slack. “I’m just going to make sure you never need worry about your chastity again,” he continued. “Because your bishop will always have it.”

“Oh,” said Anderson, like this made complete sense.

The anaesthetic made him uncharacteristically accommodating, but Enrico was sure his general naivety helped. Most people would at least have some intimate experience to guide their reactions; Anderson had none, so of course convincing him of Enrico’s sincerity was easy.

He applied his teeth to the lobe of one of Anderson’s ears to keep Anderson distracted while he undid his belt buckle. Once that was out of the way, it was easy enough to unzip and unbutton the remaining layers, giving him access to the hardness developing between Anderson’s legs. There came a slight jolt as one of Enrico’s hands descended through the tawny hairs trailing down from just under Anderson’s bellybutton, but Enrico soothed that by murmuring sweet platitudes into Anderson’s ear. ‘This will feel good’; ‘you’re doing so well’; ‘you look beautiful’.

The man was surprisingly receptive to praise. Enrico noted this with some bitterness, as it was rare he was receptive to praise from Enrico while cognisant.

An almost palpable excitement overtook Enrico when he was finally able to curl his fingers around the solid warmth of Anderson’s cock. A gasp flittered out of Anderson’s throat, followed by a rumbling moan as Enrico began to stroke. It didn’t take him long to fill out Enrico’s hand. He was sensitive and receptive in a delectable way. The real thing, the real Anderson, was so much better than every lookalike Enrico had taken to his room. No one could perfectly capture Anderson’s reactions; the tenor of his voice, his shivering, the way his powerful body strained in tensed in areas and ways only a warrior’s body could. Nothing measured up to finally having the real thing.

His own cock strained against the front of his trousers, forming a tent. Something would have to be done about it later. For now, he just wanted to touch Anderson until he felt the man shudder and come apart. He curled his free arm over Anderson’s sternum, holding him in place while he stroked him from base to tip and danced his fingers over the prominent vein on the side of his cock. He periodically grazed his nails over the sensitive frenulum and slit and was pleased to find that Anderson seemed to enjoy the touch of pain. He didn’t speak any further, so to not take Anderson out of the moment, and focused instead on getting Anderson to orgasm, which didn’t look as though it would take long.

He dropped his lips to the column of Anderson’s throat and slid his tongue up the length of it, thrilled by the way Anderson shuddered and gripped at the edges of the chair. His trailing brought him to the underside of Anderson’s jaw, which he searched with lips and tongue until he found Anderson’s thrumming pulse. When he closed his teeth over it, feeling it flutter between his teeth like a trapped bird, Anderson cried out his appreciation and spilled into Enrico’s palm.

The man had a biting kink. How ironic.

He held the man close to him while he arched like a drawn bow and shivered helplessly in Enrico’s arms. Helpless, vulnerable – words Enrico never would have thought he could apply to the man, but he was those things in this state, and the surge of power that gave him was just as arousing as watching Anderson reach his climax had been.

He’d had so little power as a boy. He hadn’t been able to make his parents respect or love him, had spent his formative years being ordered to his bedroom so his father wouldn’t see him when he visited. He hadn’t been able to make his peers like him either. But he had made one of the most powerful beings in the world bend to him, want him. Want this. That was at least one figure from his youth finally doing what he wanted.

“I’m an extension of the church, Anderson,” he murmured into the man’s ear, so quiet that he wouldn’t be entirely intelligible. “That makes you mine. You’re _mine_.”

Anderson didn’t respond beyond a weak, trembling sort of sound that Enrico didn’t quite know what to name. Surrender, perhaps? He liked that idea.

He harshly bit down on Anderson’s shoulder to mark him before he drew away to clean his hand. The mark would have faded the moment he withdrew, but he had the recording. He could enjoy the sight of Anderson with his mark for however long he liked.

Anderson continued to slump in the chair and breathe slow and tired while Enrico used a tissue to clean his hand. He was thorough about it, not wishing to sully his paperwork with Anderson’s finish.

“I think that’ll do for now,” said Enrico thoughtfully, throwing his tissues into the bin and glancing into his open drawer, at the collection of syringes tucked into the very back. He would try something more involved during their next session.

* * *

Anderson remained drowsy and pliable the entire trip back to Ferdinant Lukes. Enrico got him into bed, pressed a kiss into his hair, and by the time he’d drawn back Anderson was already asleep. It wasn’t until the following day that Anderson appeared in his office again, and he displayed no recognition of what had occurred in Enrico’s office the day prior.

“How did you sleep?” asked Enrico, idly spinning a pen between his fingers. “You were out like a light the moment I dropped you off.”

“I thought you wanted to observe me,” said Anderson with an arched eyebrow.

“I did,” said Enrico. “But you can’t expect me to spend my entire evening doing that.” Leaning his chin on a hand, he looked Anderson up and down like one would a patient. “No side-effects, I take it? You don’t feel tired or sluggish?”

Anderson shook his head. “Well-rested, actually. The staff said I was out for two hours, and it seemed to be a deep sleep. Can’t remember a bit of it, mind. I didn’t dream.”

“Good,” said Enrico. “You’re not supposed to, with twilight anaesthetic. It worked just as intended.”

“Weird feeling, waking up like that,” said Anderson, rubbing one of his eyes with a thumb. “I hope you’ve left me with some dignity in that recording. I’d prefer to be able to look the laboratory staff in the eye.”

“Don’t worry,” said Enrico, laughing. The recording was safely hidden in a bedroom safe. There would be no eyes other than his viewing it. “You spent most of the time sitting in a chair looking tired. Nothing exceptionally interesting or worthy of derision.”

“Good.” There was no relief audible in Anderson’s voice, but Enrico could tell he was. He’d gotten good at reading the man, over the years. “Does the laboratory staff have everything they need?”

“Now that you mention it…” Enrico feigned a troubled look. “You were a little _too_ inactive under the anaesthetic. We’ll need to try a different dose to see if we can get you more reactive. The ability to perform menial tasks is useful during the kinds of procedures you’re usually put through.”

Anderson looked very put upon at this suggestion, but he eventually acquiesced. “Fine, if that’s what they need.”

“They do,” said Enrico, smiling wide and sharp. “Don’t worry, Father; I’ll take good care of you while you’re under. You’ve nothing to be worried about.”


End file.
